His Only Cure, Her Final Curse

My husband, Killian, the Don of Chicago, gave away the only vial of serum that could save him from his family's hereditary disease. He gave it to his old flame—the serum I had painstakingly found for him.

When I grabbed his wrist, demanding an answer, he seized my chin and said coldly, "Your body and soul belong to me. Without my permission, you don't even have the right to die."

In that moment, the last ember of love I held for him was extinguished.

I silently signed the annulment papers from my family's lawyer, went alone to the clinic to end the life of the eight-week-old Driscoll heir growing inside me, and then returned to Florence.

Six months later, my father's informant delivered a devastating report: Jade, the woman who had taken my serum, was never sick. She had flipped it on the black market for fifty million dollars and was living a life of nightly revelry on a private Caribbean island.

And my ex-husband, Killian? His condition had deteriorated to its final stage. The once-mighty lion was now a shell of a man, kept alive only by a cocktail of medications.

When we met again, he was emaciated and frail, confined to a wheelchair. He tumbled from his seat and crawled to the center of my art gallery, weeping like an abandoned dog as he repeatedly kissed the tips of my shoes.

"Joanna, I'm sorry, please forgive me... I won't survive this winter..."

He recounted the violent, blood-soaked stories of our past—the times we fought side-by-side—hoping to reignite a flame in my heart.

I lifted my now-cold espresso and met his gaze, my voice soft.

"Killian, let me tell you a story..."

————————

1

I gazed at the Chicago skyline, took a deep breath, and made a call on my father's encrypted line.

"Papa, your offer to bring me back to Florence? I'm taking it."

The other end of the line went silent for a few seconds before my father's excited voice crackled through.

"Thank the Virgin Mary! Principessa, you've finally come to your senses. Nothing is more important than family! I'll have the private jet on standby immediately. When are you leaving?"

"As soon as possible." My gaze drifted down to my slightly swollen belly, a sharp pain twisting in my chest. "And Papa, have the family's legal team get on this. I want my marriage to Killian annulled."

"Annul the marriage? Did that gutter rat lay a hand on you? I'll wring his neck myself!"

My father's fury made my eyes burn. For a moment, I didn't know where to begin.

After a brief silence, his voice returned, softened with a long-lost gentleness. "Alright, Papa understands. Don't you worry. I'll get the best lawyers on it. We'll take back everything that belongs to you."

"Thank you, Papa."

After hanging up, I felt the last shackle around my heart shatter.

The Ricci family's power in Chicago might not run as deep as the Driscolls', but in Europe, our influence was something Killian could only dream of.

For years, I’d hidden my fangs, willingly playing the docile shadow just to be Killian Driscoll's wife. The absurdity of it all was laughable now.

That night, Killian came home late.

He was cloaked in a scent I knew too well: cigars, top-shelf whiskey, and a woman's expensive perfume—a pungent, cloying mix that reeked of cheap lust.

Seeing me sitting quietly on the red velvet sofa before the fireplace, he seemed genuinely surprised.

"I expected a tantrum." He loosened his Armani tie, his voice dripping with condescension. "Enough with the drama. Jade is fine. Once this is all over, I'll have the best doctors in the world flown in for you."

I said nothing, just watched him.

The silence seemed to unnerve him, and his brow furrowed. "What's with that look? You've been quiet. Let's leave it at that."

I nodded, my voice a placid mask of obedience. "As you wish."

He clearly hadn't expected me to be so cooperative. He froze for a second, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face.

He thought I had submitted. He thought I was still the same Joanna Ricci who would endlessly compromise for him.

He didn't know my heart was already a graveyard.

He had no idea I was carrying the eight-week-old heir to the Driscoll family. And he certainly didn't know I'd already decided this child would never be born to a father so heartless.